Each family keeps to its village trade;
Grey-headed, they have never left the gates.

Alive, they are the people of Ch‘ēn Village;
Dead, they become the dust of Ch‘ēn Village.
Out in the fields old men and young
Gaze gladly, each in the other’s face.
In the whole village there are only two clans;
Age after age Chus have married Ch‘ēns.
Near or distant, they have kinsmen in every house;
Young or old, they have friends wherever they go.
On white wine and roasted fowl they fare
At joyful meetings more than “once a week.”
While they are alive, they have no distant partings;
To choose a wife they go to a neighbour’s house.
When they are dead,--no distant burial;
Round the village graves lie thick.
They are not troubled either about life or death;
They have no anguish either of body or soul.
And so it happens that they live to a ripe age
And great-great-grandsons are often seen.

_I_ was born in the Realms of Etiquette;
In early years, unprotected and poor.
Alone, I learnt to distinguish between Evil and Good;
Untutored, I toiled at bitter tasks.
The World’s Law honours Learning and Fame;
Scholars prize marriages and Caps.
With these fetters I gyved my own hands;
Truly I became a much-deceived man.